


Presences

by cyanideSweetheart



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Child Abuse, Depersonalization, abuse mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-23
Updated: 2014-11-23
Packaged: 2018-02-26 16:41:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2659031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyanideSweetheart/pseuds/cyanideSweetheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave finds Bro's body and thinks about his life, and how Bro treated him, among other things. Talking to Terezi helps him mull it over.</p><p>((My take on how Dave felt when he found Bro's body.))</p>
            </blockquote>





	Presences

**Author's Note:**

> The logs between Terezi and Dave are taken from [here](http://www.mspaintadventures.com/?s=6&p=005598) and [here](http://www.mspaintadventures.com/?s=6&p=005603).

          There he is.

          If it's one thing you've learned in this stupid game, it's that people seem a lot /smaller/ when they're dead. All their presence is gone, the things that make them seem bigger than they are, /more/ than they are.

          He seems so much smaller, now.

          You crouch next to him, let out a shaky sigh. Blood gets on your shoes, and you don't even care; they're red, anyways, so it doesn't matter. Seeing his face, even so still, like he's sleeping- no, he's /dead/, you tell yourself sternly, none of this bullshit poetic /sleeping/ business- it sends a thrill through you, like it always does, and not a pleasant one. It makes you frown slightly, your guts tying themselves into knots, and you find yourself rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet, barely conscious you were doing it until that moment. You find yourself staring at him, and it's still so /weird/ looking at his face without thinking of the imminent danger that follows, that's almost always followed seeing it, seeing him. You find yourself-

          And then you don't.

          You lose yourself for a moment, get swept away by the panic, let your breath and heart speed up, let your stomach twist itself up further. You remind yourself, though, after a minute of this, he's /dead/, and even though you feel kind of bad about it(he's your /brother/), you feel relieved, so relieved. Your eyes are fixed on the ground next to him, because it's easier than looking at him, and then they dart to his face once more. Seeing him makes your palms sweaty, and you sigh unsteadily again, wiping your hands on your jeans. 

          A ping from your phone brings you back to reality. Terezi, you remember,

                    You were having a conversation with Terezi.

                              GC: STR1111111D3R  
                              TG: oh my fucking god  
                              GC: WH4T >:?  
                              TG: what do you mean what  
                              TG: we just got done talking and agreed it would be awesome if you didnt bother me for a while  
                              TG: you know like while i guess i grieved over this brutally murdered rad family member or something

          Yeah, he was totally rad, wasn't he? Pretty fucking cool. The coolest, even. So cool that you always looked up to him, put him on a pedestal, idolized and as good as hero-worshipped him. He was fucking awesome.

          ....Except when he wasn't.

          You shift onto one knee, your feet tiring of being stuck in the same position, sore from holding that pose so long. You don't want to sit down, though, and you make sure that your very much /not/ red jeans don't get in the pool of blood surrounding your brother. Shoes are okay, but not the jeans. Then it'll stick to your skin like your own blood would make your shirt stick to you when Bro scored a hit in a strife, on the occasion where he didn't just use Cal as a proxy to beat your ass to a pulp, when he actually used a sword.

          Ping, ping, ping, and your fingers fly over the keyboard.

                              GC: 1 TH1NK TH4T W4S HOURS 4GO FOR M3  
                              GC: 1 4M 4 L1TTL3 FOGGY ON 4LL OUR CHRONOLOG1ST1C4L SH3N4N1G4NS 4T TH1S PO1NT...  
                              GC: TH3R3 H4S B33N SO MUCH CR4ZY STUFF GO1NG ON H3R3 1 H4V3 LOST TR4CK!  
                              TG: so youre officially going nonlinear with me then  
                              TG: were just forfeiting all rhyme or reason to this unmitigated clusterfuck is that it  
                              GC: D4V3, YOUR 3NT1R3 3X1ST3NC3 1S NONL1N34R  
                              GC: DONT B3 SO M3LODR4M4T1C  
                              TG: whoops ok in the future ill try not to pitch any sort of dramatics while brooding over the cadavers of slaughtered                loved ones  
                              GC: D1D YOU LOV3 H1M D4V3?

          You actually have to give that some thought. Did you love him? Do you still love him, the memory of him? Your heart cries out a resounding /yes/, of /course/, he's your brother, he raised you, you love him more than almost anything! The amount of adoration you have- had, whatever- for him is fucking /astronomical/, it's almost fucking unhealthy-

          With a lurch, a mental stumble, you realize that yeah, it kind of was unhealthy. 

          From the surreal, half-detached point you've made in your mind, you look back on all the shit he pulled, and you honestly feel kind of grossed out, kind of- kind of /sick/, actually. You feel like you're going to hurl, because you remember how much it all hurt, and how you were, and are, always on your toes, always ready to jump at a moment's notice, always looking for traps and tricks and pranks. It grosses you out, because Rose and John and Jade never had to deal with that, but you did, and with a flash of epiphanic understanding you /get/ it, this wasn't normal, this was- it was /gross/, it wasn't okay.

          You are not okay.

                              TG: no

          There's a pause, and it feels strange, those two letters, felt unnatural to type "no", no you didn't, except you kind of did, and now you're not really sure why.

                              GC: BUT H3 W4S YOUR STR4NG3 HUM4N M4N-LUSUS  
                              GC: WHO T4UGHT YOU TO L1K3 COOL TH1NGS, L1K3 SWORDS 4ND PUPP3TS 4ND MOV1NG R34LLY F4ST!  
                              GC: HOW COULD YOU NOT???

          That's the best goddamn question anybody ever up and asked, in your opinion. How could you not? How could you not love him, when Bro was the most badass of all badasses, he was the coolest of the cool, when he taught you everything you know? How? 

          You're not really sure how you feel about this, now.

          (You still feel like you're going to puke, though.)

                              TG: puppets arent cool theyre shitty small fake people who haunt your dreams and grin like permanent assholes  
                              TG: i was making a joke about being all broken up about it  
                              TG: a guy can be sad and make jokes at the same time

          A joke, right. Of course. You were joking about being all broken up about it, because you're still not sure how to feel, which makes it hard to be broken up about it. A lot of conflicting emotions, here.

                              GC: YOU 4R3 S4D, BUT NOT BROK3N UP 4BOUT 1T?  
                              GC: 1 DONT UND3RST4ND

          Welcome to the club, you want to say. The not-understanding-things club, where everybody is confused and nobody knows what the hell is going on. You are the president, and it is not a fun job.

                              TG: exactly  
                              GC: BUT YOU S41D YOU W3R3 GR13V1NG!  
                              TG: i said we agreed youd leave me alone to grieve  
                              TG: didnt say whether i actually would or actually am  
                              GC: W3LL, 4R3 YOU?  
                              TG: i am grieving to the max like a widow on dead husband island  
                              TG: behind these chill as fuck shades my face is having this crazy attack of the sads  
                              TG: my rue is fucking bananas cant you tell  
                              GC: 4RGH NO, 1 C4NT!

          You laugh, and it sounds fake and hollow. Yeah, you can't tell either. Confusion abounds. You feel like someone else is saying these things, piloting your fingers and making more text show up, but it's not you, it's a stranger in your body. You feel like you're watching them do this from the passenger's seat, and it doesn't really affect you. It does, but not the you in the passenger's seat. 

          The you in the passenger's seat is having a hard time feeling much of anything. The bro's got all sorts of apathetic up in his head. It feels weird. But hey, you have practice at apathy, right? So it's not exactly hard.

                              GC: YOU DONT SOUND S1NC3R3, BUT 1TS SO H4RD TO T3LL WH4T L4Y3R OF 1RONY R3MOV3D FROM R34L1TY YOUR FL1PP4NT R3M4RKS 4R3                SUPPOS3D TO B3  
                              GC: 1 4M B3TT1NG YOU R34LLY 4R3 S4D NO M4TT3R HOW H1L4R1OUS 4ND 4LOOF YOU TH1NK YOUR3 B31NG  
                              TG: the truth is a mystery  
                              TG: tucked behind the pursed lips of a shitty riddler  
                              TG: they will be loosened only when presented with the conundrous grandeur of rigid insoluble puzzlecock

          You're pretty sure the you in the driver's seat of this wildly out of control wreck of a conversation is telling the you in the passenger's seat to go suck a dick, but you're not really sure.

                              GC: BLUH TH4T M4K3S NO S3NS3!  
                              TG: im sorry you are so flustered by the mere mention of glittering mythical cryptodick it honestly makes me think youre                not ready for the truth

          Neither are you, but you think that's a moot point. It's not like you have a choice; you can only stay in the land of denial for so long, right? The shit-tastic waters of the Nile of Denial are just too gross for your tastes, and you are knee-deep in it. Or however deep the actual Nile is. You're not sure.

                              GC: D4V3 YOUR P3RPL3X1NG 3UPH3M1SMS 1NVOLV1NG WH4T 1 PR3SUM3 TO B3 L3WD 4ND V4GU3LY 1NTR1GU1NG PORT1ONS OF HUM4N 4N4TOMY                1 TH1NK 4R3 NOT 4S H1L4R1OUS 4S YOU PROB4BLY B3L13V3  
                              GC: 4ND 1N 4NY C4S3 YOU M4Y B3 4M4Z3D TO L34RN 1 4M NOT TOT4LLY 1N TH3 MOOD FOR YOUR DUMB SM4RT4SSY HORNSWOGGL3RY!  
                              GC: 1 H4V3 LOTS OF MY OWN PROBL3MS H3R3, 4ND TH3Y 4R3 B1G, B1G PROBL3MS  
                              GC: SO WHY DONT YOU JUST T3LL M3 WH4T YOU 4R3 TH1NK1NG FOR ONC3?

          You are pretty sure you don't want to do that. Like, there is a maths% chance that you really, really don't want to tell her what you're thinking, because it's really depressing. You think. Maybe? It seems like it'd be depressing, if it was anyone else thinking these thoughts, but you don't, as has been stated, actually feel much, at the moment. 

          After a second, your eyes slide over to the sword in his chest, embedded in the ground. You suppose you should take it? It's not like he's going to be usng it, since he's kind of a corpse, but it just feels wrong, kind of. Feels wrong to touch it. Or pull it out. It'd draw more blood, you think, make this scene more gory than it already is, and you kind of don't want to make that a thing. That is a thing you most definitely don't want.

                              TG: its pretty simple  
                              TG: im just thinkin about how im gonna take this sword  
                              GC: Y34H...  
                              GC: 1 N3V3R R34LLY GOT WHY YOU WOULDNT JUST PULL 1T OUT

          You make a face, wrinkle your nose. You are all kinds of disgusted and grossed out by that thought. 

                              TG: filthiest thing you ever said  
                              GC: HUH >:? 

          A sigh slips out of you, for the third time. Your fingers run through your hair, and you look away from the sword again, and stand up, stretching expansively, like you're trying to distract yourself with it. Like a cat. Like you're lazy, like you couldn't care less about this frankly fucking awful situation. Which is becoming less true by the second, because standing up is starting to bring you back to yourself, starting to make you feel stuff again. 

          You stand still and focus on your phone, and feelings start to fade again. You are, once more, in the passenger's seat.

                              TG: forget it  
                              TG: pulling swords out of things isnt how i roll  
                              TG: im not john remember  
                              GC: 1 4M NOT FOLLOW1NG  
                              TG: im not a hero  
                              TG: my bro was

          At least, sort of. It's hard to take someone off a pedestal, once you've put them up there. And he did something pretty goddamn heroic, too, apparently. You kind of wish you'd been there to see it, because that would have been pretty goddamn cool.

          Except for the stabbing part. That part, not so much.

                              TG: john is  
                              TG: im not  
                              GC: Y3S YOU 4R3!

          Your eyebrows furrow, and you frown again, or maybe frown deeper, because you're pretty sure you've been frowning this entire time. Totally not coolkid of you, but you don't feel very cool, right now.

                              TG: no  
                              GC: Y3S, W3 4LL 4R3  
                              GC: 1 4M TH3 H3RO OF M1ND  
                              GC: YOU 4R3 TH3 H3RO OF T1M3  
                              GC: TH4T 1S WHO W3 W3R3 CR34T3D TO B3  
                              TG: fine its a title we inherit as phlegm babies or whatever but what have i done to earn it  
                              TG: pretty much nothing but horsing around through time and swindling retarded alligators out of their life savings  
                              TG: if that swords coming out of his chest its coming out clean  
                              TG: taking it vertically means drawing more blood  
                              TG: but horizontally means a clean break  
                              TG: check it  
                              GC: NO, DONT >:[

          Too late, you're doing this thing. You aren't sure if this is actually going to work, but it shouldn't be that hard to break the damn thing, right? Right. And you won't have any of his blood on your hands, literally or metaphorically speaking. It'll be kind of a useless sword after that, but whatever, you don't care.

          You draw away, get back, and take a running start, sprinting headlong at his body and the sword. You jump up, one leg extended, the other kicked up, and your foot makes contact with the handle. Booyeah, you think, as the sword bends, and it looks like it's about to snap-

          But then it springs back, hurling you backwards, your shades flying off your face. You have just enough time to swear before you hit the ground, and you hit it facefirst, the rest of your body following. 

          Ow.

          You lay there for a very long time, and then Terezi pings you again.

                              GC: D4V3 G3T UP 

          Ugh. You don't /want/ to. It's so nice and comfy here on the hard ground, with your myriad feelings and your intense pain from landing flat on your fucking face. You don't want to get up for... probably ever, actually.

                              TG: no fuck that  
                              TG: im a lie my ass right down here for a while looking slightly less cool than i make myself out to be ordinarily 

          You keep talking to Terezi, despite your lack of wanting to do much of anything, least of all get up. Everything hurts, including your emotions, and you hate this, hate feeling like this. You'd almost take normal life with your brother over this.

          It's the almost that makes you hate this situation the most, because it's better than /that/.

          With the fourth sigh that leaves you since you found him, you get up onto your feet and stretch. Not like you can stay there feeling sorry for yourself forever, right? You've got shit to do. So, with one last look back at him, you walk away, off towards the rest of LOWAS, and you resolve to kick ass harder than anybody else has ever kicked ass before. 

          And, as your conversation with Terezi drags on, you start to get a real strong hankering for some justice. Even if your brother was a piece of shit, you still want to get Jack back for killing him. 

          After all, he was nearly all you ever had.

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT: I fixed it! Woo! The colors are now there.
> 
> EDIT #2: Apparently it does this weird thing where the text is kind of disjointed in the logs? I don't know how to fix it, and it looks fine to me. I think I'm just going to leave it as is...


End file.
